Three Little Words
by minachandler
Summary: Set just after the flashbacks in 3x14. For the second time, now, Laurel finds herself in bed with Tommy Merlyn (or, more accurately, on his couch). But Laurel starts to get the feeling that this is about more than just comfort this time – for both of them. Smut and angst.


Tommy's face is buried in Laurel's neck and he has her pinned against the wall, her jacket lying on the floor where she had impatiently removed it, when finally – and impulsively, she quickly realises – she manages to speak.

"I've missed you," she whispers. She half-hopes he doesn't hear her, because vocalising how she feels just makes this so much more _real_ and she's not quite sure she's ready for that.

(And it's not like they haven't been in each other's company the last few months, because they have. Weirdly, the fact that not so long ago they slept together hadn't really affected their friendship – there was never any bitterness or bad feeling or even proper awkwardness between them, not like Laurel had expected. But obviously that doesn't mean she didn't miss him – that she didn't miss _this_. Because she does.)

But he does hear, and he looks up, meeting her eyes, and it's impossible for Laurel not to smile at the way the corners of Tommy's eyes crinkle ever so slightly in pleasant incredulity at her words. Not when his arms around her waist loosen ever so slightly and she doesn't feel quite as breathless and he drops a kiss on her ear, of all places.

"You did?" he whispers back.

"Yeah," she admits. "I did. A lot."

"I missed you too," Tommy says softly, and when he kisses her once more, it's not the fiery kiss she expects. His lips are light on hers at first, barely brushing against them, really. Slow. It's when his tongue darts out to lick her lower lip that her hand goes to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He tastes like something warm and sweet and possibly vaguely alcoholic and it's so very _Tommy_ that for the first time in what feels like forever, Laurel doesn't feel that hollowness in her throat, in her heart, in her bones. She feels heat rise in her stomach as she pushes at Tommy's shoulders, making him walk backwards until they are back to his living room.

They're on the couch, and she's straddling his waist, and still, he's kissing her, more intensely now, as if his life depends on it, hands fisting in her hair, pulling her closer and closer until only clothing separates his skin and hers. Laurel goes with it, matching his movements, her hands going inside his shirt and mapping out his back and then his chest, and she knows then that she really has missed him. She must do, to find the hammering of his heart against her fingers – where they are splayed on his ribcage – and the quick rising and falling of his chest with each breath so exhilarating that her own pulse quickens tenfold and she feels a rush of arousal in her groin.

Tommy groans, then, and the sound is glorious – she can feel the warm hum of it in the back of her throat, too, where it lingers as his hand moves upwards to cup her breast. Laurel pulls her shirt up and over her head before her lips are on his once more and she busies herself with unbuttoning his shirt. He lets her undo all of them and push it off him, only laughing faintly when Laurel lets out a loud sound of frustration once one of the sleeves gets stuck around his wrist.

But then her impatience becomes surprise when he stands up, lifting her with him, and instinctively her legs tighten around his hips. And just as suddenly, he turns round and places her back on the couch, facing him, and her mouth's open, the question of "what are you doing" already on her lips, but the words don't really come out because Tommy's now on his knees and pushing her legs ever so slightly apart.

 _Oh_.

"You don't have to," Laurel says instantly, and Tommy's fingers (which have just slipped into the waistband of her jeans) still against her hipbone.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, not so much as skipping a beat, and that earnestness in his eyes is back, even if now it's more heated than before. And she's not sure why but there's just something about the way he gazes up at her that inexplicably makes her feel more beautiful than she has in a long time – so much so that she pulls him up a little for another kiss, catching him unawares and making him gasp.

"I want you to," she murmurs at last when they come up for air. "I want _you_ , Tommy, I –"

Anything else that she wants to say, though, is pushed to the back of her mind when Tommy slips his hand inside her jeans, past her panties and down, his fingertips just skimming around her entrance. Immediately Laurel closes her eyes and leans forward to kiss him, and it's messier, all tongues and wet mouths and a heavy pant from Laurel when she pulls down her jeans and panties in one go and realises just how soaked the cotton of her underwear is when she makes to toss the discarded garments aside.

She's surprised therefore when Tommy presses a kiss on her ankle, one hand wrapped around her calf and the other resting on her thigh (because that means he wants to do this properly and a small part of her wonders if she's even deserving of that). Laurel tries to lie back, trying to stave off the mixture of arousal and nervousness that makes her shudder at every movement of his lips or hands.

It's obvious Tommy notices, though, because then he looks up and meets her eyes once more. "Hey," he says quietly, "tell me to stop if you want."

His words calm her, allow her to take a breath, and it doesn't take long for her hand to cover his on her thigh. Their fingers lock together and it helps.

"I'm okay," she tells him, and he smiles back, reassuring her even more, and seconds later she arches her back when he presses a kiss on the inside of her knee while – with his unoccupied hand – he reaches up and slides just the tip of his finger inside her. Laurel bites her lip, eyes flying shut, realising she's pretty sensitive already, but Tommy keeps his touch light, focusing on kissing up her thigh.

"Okay?" he says, gazing up at her. She nods this time, unable to get out even a single word

And she's not sure how but the hot trail of fire his lips and tongue leave on her skin as they inch further up make the ache between her legs increase even more – the ache for _him_ , coming out in fragmented almost-pleas for Tommy to just –

And then his mouth is finally at her centre and his tongue darts out and she's so very sensitive now, so the pleasure she feels is at first razor-sharp. "Too – too much," she moans, and immediately Tommy lightens his touch once more, letting her get used to him, and she relaxes a little, her breaths less shallow, enjoying it now, the gentleness that is the very tip of his tongue.

Laurel's hands are in his hair, now, her nails surely scraping against his scalp, but still, he keeps going, and it's like he can tell from the way she rocks her hips and the way he reaches up to grab one of her wrists and his grip tightens that she's close. And then she feels his mouth close around her clitoris and a groan leaves her lips when Tommy flicks his tongue against that throbbing spot inside her over and over, almost rhythmically, to the point that any semblance of Laurel's self-control disappears completely, and her fingers trail from his hair to edges of his jaw and then his bare shoulders as she reaches her climax, crying out Tommy's name.

As her mouth opens she can taste her own sweat, and for as long as she possibly can she chases her release, riding out that high she hasn't had in months until she is gasping for breath and she can feel sweat trickling down her neck. She lies back on the couch, the soft cushions comforting on the bare skin of her back, and when Tommy crawls up her body and kisses up her neck, his mouth touching her cheek and then her lips, she can't stop the smile spreading on them even if she wanted to.

(Which she doesn't.)

"I'm glad you changed your mind," he says quietly against her mouth. The taste of her own essence is still thick on his tongue, and it's now that she becomes aware of the hardness pressing onto her hip.

"So am I." She considers for a moment. "I only wish I had sooner."

And before he has a chance to reply to that particular confession, Laurel reaches down, her hand wandering down to his groin. She cups his erection through his pants, making him press his mouth (where it's latched onto her shoulder) harder, and all that does is sent a pool of heat to her belly once more.

Tommy lifts his face to hers then and kisses her, more sloppily than before, his mouth half on hers and half on her chin. She kisses him back – something about the way he's lost a little of his composure and finesse is surprisingly attractive to her, for some reason. Laurel turns her hand over, knuckles dancing lightly over the straining hard-on between his legs, and Tommy's eyes darken as he groans her name.

"Laurel, oh God, Laurel, I – I lo–"

But at that moment she silences him with a kiss, so that the rest of his words are muted by her lips. She doesn't stop what she's doing with her hand, though – she continues to move it up and down his length through his pants until he is thrusting forward into her hand and then is coming in her hand with a groan that is stifled only by her mouth still on his. The material beneath her palm is damp, and it's only then that she lifts her hand to Tommy's bare chest and kisses him slowly, gently, on his lips.

"No words, especially the ones neither of us are ready for." It's not an order or a request but rather a plea – one tinged with just a little bit of desperation.

Tommy's hand goes upward, so his fingers are tangled in her hair. His eyes are still closed, though, and once again Laurel wonders if he heard her. "Okay," he says. And then he opens his eyes, and up close it's impossible to ignore how they have softened – he looks spent and is still a little breathless and she's sure she can feel the still-rapid pulse in his wrist against the back of her neck. "But one day?"

Instead of answering, Laurel instead kisses him heatedly, unhooking her bra as she does so, and she feels a surge of arousal when his thumb brushes against her almost immediately erect nipple. Pushing at his chest (so now she's on top of him, one leg on either side of his waist), she lets herself be lost in the moment, in the temporary high of the temporary intimacy she shares with Tommy Merlyn, and forgetting about the three words he had been about to say to her just seconds before.

Years later, though, when Laurel remembers climbing inside the burning CNRI building, scrabbling for Tommy's pulse and screaming his name and begging him to wake up, those three little words – the last three words he ever said to her – are all she can think about for months to come.


End file.
